


Too Long

by Resoan



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3534563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resoan/pseuds/Resoan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post DA2. Warden-Commander Surana receives news of Grey Wardens hunting down Anders after the destruction of the Chantry. She intends to find him first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Long

**Author's Note:**

> This was a trade on tumblr for LadyFenharel.

“Warden-Commander. Missive for you.” A scout in leathers stood half in the doorway, the insignia of the Grey Wardens spreading across the leather chestplate, though Surana’s eyes were more focused on the parchment in the man’s hand. He was one of her newer recruits, and she’d feared, however briefly, for his life during the Joining – though, truth be told, she feared for  _anyone_ 's Joining after her own disastrous one at Ostagar.

“Let’s have it then, Alfric.” The Warden-Commander outstretched her hand, scarred multiple times over from her own hand and healed just as swiftly; the human inclined his head and handed it over before bowing out of the room and shutting the door quietly behind him.

Surana settled deeper into her chair, tendrils of ash-white hair spilling slightly over her shoulders; missive was a generous term, she found – this was scarcely more than two sentences strung together by some Free Marcher Grey Wardens who’d apparently been on the hunt for the mage responsible for destroying Kirkwall’s chantry, considering he, too, was still a Warden. Her teeth grit together, and she set it down onto her desk, her hands tightening until they eventually fell into her lap. She’d let Anders go to the Free Marches with the understanding of his goal: to help free the mages, and though she was the very last person to be considered devout, the news had been something of a shock. It seemed drastic at the time, though Anders, in his time with her in the Wardens and even before when they’d been in the Circle together, had never wanted violence. He wanted to help people, to heal them as his skills dictated.

All of her attempts to keep the Wardens from going after him had been in vain, however – or so it seemed now, given the letter. Perhaps that’s why she felt so frustrated, so  _irritated_ ; hadn’t the Wardens anything better to do than a blighted  _templar’s_  duty? She abruptly stood from her desk then, her hand mechanically reaching for the stave propped against it; it seemed she would have to do everything _herself_ : though she couldn’t quite pretend that finding Anders and ensuring his continued survival and well-being wasn’t partially motivated from residual feelings of so long ago. It wasn’t so simple as loving him, though, once upon a time, when she’d been younger, more naïve, maybe she thought she did; he was still important to her, however, and it seemed the entirety of Thedas was out for his blood, even while the mages and templars stewed in their Circles with rebellion cloying the air.

“Commander?” Surana’s eyes blinked up and towards the doorway, and her expression softened.

“Sigrun.” The casteless dwarf had remained with the Wardens despite her frequent comments of needing to go back to the Deep Roads, and truly, she was the only one of her original companions from Amaranthine still actively at her side. “I don’t suppose you’d care to go find an old friend with me?” The Commander’s lips twisted into an expression somewhere between amused and concerned, and Sigrun chuckled quietly.

“Who, me? I’ve been stuck to your side for the past ten years, and I don’t think that’s about to change anytime soon.”

“Well then,” Surana continued, lips twisting into a grin. “Let’s go.”

* * *

The rebellion broke out not a week after Surana and Sigrun left to find Anders. The pair lost count of how many rogue templars and mages attacked them without provocation, though the mangled corpses and bodies they discovered afterwards made any sympathy for them disappear. The war was bloody already, and Surana didn’t relish finding Anders amidst all the chaos: it would have been difficult enough as it was, but now it would be nigh on impossible.

They stumbled into a bar just west of the Orlesian border with Ferelden: a run-down, out-of-the-way place that the war hadn’t managed to touch yet; Sigrun could see the Commander’s anxiety on her features, even if the elf would never have openly admitted it: she’d had a decade to observe after all. Mercifully, their first clue came when Sigrun offered to get a couple of drinks from the barmaid; of all things, a little boy was standing nearby, perhaps waiting for one of his parents or perhaps the child of whoever owned the tavern.

Sigrun smiled at him as she waited, and at first, he seemed confused: it was incredibly likely he’d never met a dwarf before; “Did you hear?” he finally asked, eyes glittering with an excitement he simply couldn’t contain any longer. “A nice man stopped at papa’s farm yesterday – helped deliver a calf. Papa wouldn’t let him stay, though. I never even got to say goodbye.” The boy was frowning by this point, though Sigrun’s eyebrows had drawn together.

“And what did the nice man look like?” Sigrun asked, wholly unsurprised to see the bright smile return to the boy’s lips.

“He was really tall, kind of skinny like papa after mean men took some of our food. Yellow hair, but he never really seemed to smile – except when he told me stories!” It wasn’t a perfect description, but it was something, and Sigrun thanked the lad for answering her questions before returning to the table, twin tankards in hand. The Commander was willing to check out any lead at this point, though Sigrun could see her weariness – they could head out in the morning, after a decent night’s sleep in a bed. Sigrun was almost ashamed of the luxuries she’d gotten used to as a Warden, though she consoled herself with the fact that she was keeping people safe, and doing good work.

The morning dawned cold and grey, and Surana pulled her cloak around her shoulders more tightly, though the wind merely pierced through it and forced her to shiver anyway. It was slow-moving, eyes constantly wary for signs of a trail they might follow, and the light snowfall that began perhaps an hour after they left the tavern hardly helped matters. “Sigrun, look!” A little pool of red gleamed dark pink, half-frozen and being covered over with snow, though it had Surana’s heart racing despite herself. It could have been blood from anything – a wound creature, bandits, rogue templars…

It was then that monsters seemed to spring up from the very earth itself: monsters Surana had been fighting for so many years now she could envisage them perfectly without even opening her eyes. The darkspawn growled menacingly, razor-sharp teeth visible in red, jagged smiles as corruption seemed to drip from their maws; Sigrun was already racing ahead, her daggers gleaming menacingly, when a wave of ice arced between half a dozen of the beasts: and not from her own hands either.

There was no time to think: only to react; a knife slid easily across her palm, and Surana didn’t even wince at the pain: had felt it more times than she could recount, and had subsequently found herself desensitized to it. Genlocks and hurlocks shrieked as they went down from her assault, though in truth she scarcely heard it over the beckoning of the demons at the edge of her mind, fiercely attempting to claw their way inside a mortal vessel with promises and dark desires.

And then, there was silence. The beasts were dead, lying in pools of blackened blood, and Surana grimaced at the way Sigrun attempted to wipe away their blood from her brow and now-soaked hair. “I thought you’d drop the blood magic after I taught you to heal.” Anders’s hands were covered in scars and scabs, healed-over well, though still visible, and Surana couldn’t keep herself from smiling as he took her hand and healed over her new wound with a wave.

Her arms wound around his neck a moment later, and Anders nearly faltered; “Next time you decide to disappear, you  _tell_  me.” He breathed a little easier then, and half-smiled as his arms rounded her torso and his head angled until it draped just lightly over top of her own.

“Sorry, Commander. But there  _were_  extenuating circumstances.” There was a glibness in his voice then she hadn’t heard since before he and Justice became one, and she pulled away gently, with a quiet little huff and a roll of her eyes.

“Even so…I worry.” She looked up at him then, at the dark circles around his eyes and the lines of his brow, and her heart broke; her hand moved slowly, deliberately, until her fingertips found his cheek, and he shuddered out a breath that might have been a quiet sob. “It’s been too long.” Her palm flattened against his cheek then, and her smile became soft, softer than it had been for a long while, undoubtedly. “I’ll never leave you alone again, Anders – that’s a promise.” His eyes were glassy then, holding back tears, though Sigrun let out a quiet  _ahem_  to remind the pair that she was, indeed, still there.

“Not to interrupt the happy reunion, but we  _are_  in the middle of darkspawn corpses, and  _I_ haven’t seen you in forever either, you know.” All three chuckled, and Anders let go of the Commander to instead turn to Sigrun, his smile friendly and nostalgic. 


End file.
